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'Way from Kraken gurgle, Harpic Sarlacc, full-
throated Flush Monster, back to bed I'd hurry
during the weeing hours o' childhood mornindigo.
When Percy points at the porcelain, the porcy
lain points back at Percy.

Used & abused water
levelling
more than the icon, Sea, but at that age,
I don't suppose I was thinking
of fatbergs & rat kings,

****** miles of shiteating grim
fundus, universal bucket leaking in each
bubble's corner.
No carminatives, no angst, no Armitage H.
Shanks: incorporeal the wretch

Insta-famous. 'Dontcha believe it!'
answers the ****, the ****
of Om. Ad profundum,
do sewers need hellcraft?
Don't forget to...Baptismal epitaph

of **** is abysmal, craptismal
welcome to our round world
via u-bends sinister. Whole scatolocus
be curved crud, our home clod
w/ its bogs of cod.

But thru the eye of a needle our narrow
focus takes us
down the Euroshopper **** canal flannel channel
to where kermit quack deterges
(from a high grate) Kermit the Crocodile's scales,

wargreen as a black Atlantic gator.
I am the eggbound, goo goo
g'jobbie! But it's time to putaway such childish things:
in reality, the Ninja Turtles' HQ
is covered in poo.

& verrucas ebola ebolasalt logorrhea logonorrhea
semolinapilchard eczemacetera. Stereotypical-
ly British/puerile/Licean to
stir urea o' tepid pools,
torpid stools, fool-

hardy too, lest guileless sewage
triumfartly splurts
from madid, olid mouse 'oles.
Horizontal geysewers l/ foudroyant
hydrants of tempted fate,

rumble thy smellyful! Revacuate, adobe draftexcluders
miasmatic! Revoid, renal vino! & muckup halcyon
skirtingboards! A soapy bath concludes the
amphisbaenian
dirtyspines

coprocobraing in Pythagorrhea of ricoshite.
Feeshus lept, Jesus wept! Misfortune we miss
is the best luck, so thank Chod such an agitplop
contraflow of floaters against th'Effluent is
not forthplumbing. Eccrisis

is natural, nitrous, noxious
& necessary, our meconium island babies.
But nothing pooing is sweetsmelling nothing doing,
blows unblocked felicity in my
direction (an angel's cloaca of invisibility).
Sharon Talbot Sep 2017
Favorite word: “nymphet”, but no!
Halcyon, a kind of drug, you know.
Searching through the pages’ mist
And imagined deeds
Of poets’ needs…
I found my favourite word,
As asked,
Neither sacred nor profane
That describes the Venetian rain
In my beloved’s eyes
And the Florentine sun upon her hair:
“Auburn, russet, mythopoeic”.
Oh, it is not fair,
To liken an object
Of my lust and love
To anything as mortal as autumn air!
Nor “October’s orchard Haze”;
She had her own
Inscrutable, premeditated ways!
Rather let me say that she was perfect,
Though her eyes, pale and myopic,
Her shuffling gait and
Graceless limbs, to them Grace lends
Fey charm, the power to mend
My suffering and
Delusions of a poet’s end
As anything but pathetic,
(Her mother’s fondness for vague emetics)
And I left softly hanging,
On a girl’s new taste,
A tang of russet apples on her face,
But no, not that, the sum
Of my love, My Lo!
Then her bleak demise, partly by my hand
That none of you brutes could understand;
The pure love,
So sadly consummated,
Between a lover
And the one she hated
Yet loved once with inexplicable delight,
On one stolen, frightened night…
In which the two of us agreed
To satisfy a simple, yet maniacal need,
And then depart…
But I could not,
You see;
She was my life,
My love, my heart.

Humbert Humbert 1950

Sharon Talbot ca. 2005
Obviously inspired by Vladimir Nabokov's controversial and perfectly written novel, ******. So many people fail to realize that, behind the monstrous deeds, there is a love story, however profane. Is it a tragedy? Perhaps. I just wanted to revel in some of Nabokov's prose and imagery, that changes so well into poetry.
Lizzy Nov 2016
Light of my life,
The slings and arrows
Of outrageous fortune
Bloom a rose
In the deeps of my heart.

And so I came forth
But could not behold the stars.
The slings and arrows,
They trespassed upon my thoughts.

And I cried that I came
To this great stage of fools,
But it echoed loudly within me
Because I am hollow at the core.

That outward existence which conforms,
This inward life which questions
Confusion now hath made his masterpiece of.  

I don't exactly know
What I mean by that,
But I mean it.
This is made of quotes from some of my favorite pieces of literature
Nora Feb 2016
Blue meet grey
In the brief flash
Of a mutual gaze
Before eyes fall back
To the littered ground
Hands clasped tight
Toes are twitching
Man and girl
Sitting in careful, practiced non-existence.
Inspiration taken from Nabokov's ******.
Cecelia Francis May 2015
Winged migration
to flee from migraine
irritations:

I was the shadow
of the waxwing slain,
flung and flew through
wire flues on the roofs

To be some happier
glove, not on hand
olympia May 2014
i dream about
that girl
that girl
who can wear that
dress
and smoke
after school

she can let her
hair down
even on the hot days
and let it fall
and dance
on the small of her back

she breaths in
the lethal fumes
that don't even touch her
her porcelain skin
too taut to let the
poisons in

she sits and lets
the sun melt on her face
as she lays on the freshly
cut grass
the boys staring
and her not caring

i sit and stare
at that girl
who sits and stares
right back at me
through the smoke
of my infinite
dreams

— The End —